Fowls of Fashion

A judge at a Brisbane poultry show has warned fanciers that he will in future disqualify birds that bear evidence of too much cosmetic and lipstick and the excessive use of depilatories to brighten fowls’ faces.

I plucked the eyebrows of my hen
    And put her in a show;
I went and taught her husband then
    The modern way to crow
In pseudo-Oxford, with a drawl.
It wasn’t any good at all;
    The brutal judge said, “No!”

I taught my ducks to quack in jazz
    And two-step to a “swing”;
I added such attractions as
    A “perm” to either wing.
I massaged my Muscovy drake,
Marcelled his head for beauty’s sake;
    But didn’t win a thing.

I gave my goose a facial pack
    And stained her toe-nails red,
Touched up her eyes with “Eyelash Black”
    And placed upon her head,
Sideways, a dinky little hat.
The judge was not impressed by that.
    “Preposterous!” he said.

I got my gander up in spats,
    Then led him to a bar,
Fed him pink gin and salted sprats,
    Cocktails and caviar.
Then, at the show, he crooned like Bing.
“Ganders,” the judge said, “shouldn’t sing.
    ’E dunno where ’e are.”

With lip-stick, rouge and brilliantine
    I pepped my pullets up.
And, tho’ they matched the modern scene,
    Ejaculating, “Nup!”
The judge gave me a dirty look
And to some vulgar barn-door chook
    The coveted gold cup.

I think the modern poultry show
    They well might modernise.
For birds with polish, pep and go.
    Till judges recognise
He-drakes with punch and sex-appeal
And henna-ed hens with It, I feel
    I’ll never win a prize.